


Nothing More Than That

by bluefay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Flirting, Flowers, Fluff, M/M, New Year's Fluff, New Years, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefay/pseuds/bluefay
Summary: Harry goes to a florist on New Year’s Day to buy a bouquet for Molly. He leaves with an unexpected date.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 93





	Nothing More Than That

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year’s, everyone! I know this past year has been an absolute crock of shit, and I’m so proud of you for making it through to what is hopefully going to end up being the other side. 
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who’s read my fanfiction this year. I truly can’t explain how much it means to me that I’m receiving love and support for something that I’m so passionate about. Lots of new stories to come, and I’ll see you all soon 💜

When Harry woke, the world was silent, the earth covered in a fresh layer of snow. Pale overcast light fell in through the crack in his curtains, highlighting small particles of dust floating through the still air. A blanket of coldness hung over the bedroom, sinking into Harry’s hands and seeping into his spine, and he burrowed further under the covers.

That is, until he remembered that it was New Year’s Day, and New Year’s Day meant going over to the Burrow for a grand lunch that Molly had poured her blood, sweat, and tears into.

With a heavy groan, Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes. After a moment he reached over to his nightstand, grabbed his wand, and lazily cast _Tempus_. Blue numbers appeared in the air, glowing against the early morning light, and revealed that it was eight o’clock. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, he peeled back his duvet and slid out of bed, the soles of his feet meeting the icy wooden floor. He padded to the bathroom, relieving himself before wandering to his wardrobe and exchanging his pajamas for a pair of fitted black jeans, a light pink cable knit jumper that complimented his golden brown skin, and canvas high-tops. 

Once dressed, he ran a comb through his hair, although his black waves still sat at odd, unusual angles. After a minute or two he gave up, spraying himself with eucalyptus and pine aftershave. Then, giving himself a final once-over, he felt reasonably content and headed in the direction of the kitchen. 

He sat in a stupor and drank coffee while the porridge cooked, occasionally casting a glance at the clock hanging on the wall to make sure that he was alright for time. By nine o’clock, he’d chucked on his coat and a matching set of a grey scarf, gloves, and a beanie that Molly had knitted for him several years ago. Then, stuffing his keys and wallet into his satchel, he headed out the door of his flat, down the stairs of the building, and out into the brisk morning.

The sky was heavy with dark clouds, threatening to unleash a new flurry of snow and slush at any moment. This caused Harry to frown, a deep crease settling in between his eyebrows as he made his way towards the nearest Tube station. The path was slick and wet with snow that had fallen overnight, and his shoes were already soaked and uncomfortable. Silently, Harry thanked himself for having been reasonable and putting on a second pair of wool socks over his first.

After hopping on his train, he arrived at his stop thirty minutes later. Weaving his way in between clusters of people on the platform, he made his way up the stairs and onto the street, turning right. Down the road a little ways, he could make out a wooden sign jutting out from one of the shops up ahead, reading _Rosemary’s Garden_ in faded, light green print. He let out a sigh of relief, having found it. 

Walking into the shop, he was immediately hit with the sweet, aromatic smell of roses. The right wall was made up of a refrigerator, which was filled to the brim with a variety of flowers. Harry recognized a few, such as baby’s breath, gardenias, and lilies. The rest of the shop was filled with premade floral arrangements and bouquet accessories, all looking rather attractive in the silver light that fell through the broad front window. 

Harry looked to the till counter, but there wasn’t a shop employee in sight. However, there was a silver bell sitting on the countertop, which he diligently rang, the tinny sound echoing throughout the shop. He heard shuffling in what must have been the back room, and then a figure all too familiar emerged. 

Draco sodding Malfoy. He looked better than he had the last time Harry had seen him, which had been at his trial seven years ago. Malfoy had looked worn then, his skin sallow and taut and a dull look in his pewter colored eyes. Now, though, there was a light about him, as though someone had flipped a switch. His soft, ashy blond hair was cropped just above his ears, shorter than it had been, and the frown lines that had riddled his face were now faded. 

As Harry stared at him, he realized with quite a horrible shock that Malfoy was … _fit_.

Malfoy awkwardly cleared his throat, moving to his position behind the counter. He was clad in a charcoal colored turtleneck and, Harry was quite startled to see, blue jeans. On top of the turtleneck laid a forest green apron with the shop’s name embroidered in loopy gold letters on the chest. 

“Potter?” Malfoy asked hesitantly, his voice breaking the deafening silence. 

“I―” Harry began, his tongue suddenly feeling dry and far too large, “I didn’t know you worked here. Why … why _do_ you work here?”

“Well,” Malfoy said, his voice weary, “I didn’t exactly have a choice, did I? With the wizarding world casting me into exile, and all.”

Harry was taken aback at his bluntness, and he recoiled slightly. “That makes sense. Do you … like flowers?”

The corners of Malfoy’s mouth turned upwards slightly. “I suppose.”

“Right,” Harry said nervously, looking anywhere but at Malfoy. “Well, I’d like to buy a bouquet of flowers.”

“That’s a bit … generic,” Malfoy said flatly. “Could you be more specific? Type of flower? Size?”

“Oh. Um, well, Molly likes zinnias. Dahlias too, I think. And nothing too fancy. She wouldn’t want that,” Harry said.

“Would you mind if I put some eucalyptus and baby’s breath in the bouquet? Just to break up the dahlias and zinnias,” Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged. “You’re the florist.”

He swore he could see Malfoy smirk as he set about putting the bouquet together. Meanwhile, Harry wandered around the shop, putting all of his frazzled energy into admiring the different flora. 

Ten minutes later, the bouquet was ready. It was filled with bright orange and pink flowers, which paired nicely with the paleness of the eucalyptus leaves and baby’s breath. A cream satin ribbon had been tied neatly around the stems, which were held in place by a plastic bouquet covering. It looked right up Molly’s alley, which made Harry feel thrilled.

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” Harry said, digging out his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“Sixty pounds even.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, not having expected such a steep price, but paid it nonetheless. He’d pay anything to see the smile that he knew would appear on Molly’s face when she saw the bouquet.

As Malfoy printed the receipt, he looked up, an amused look on his face. “So, I saw in the _Daily Prophet_ that you’ve come out as bisexual. Is it true?”

Harry, after briefly choking on his spit, let out a surprised laugh. “Yes. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Malfoy said, handing the receipt to Harry. “I’m gay.”

“Oh,” Harry said lamely, his mind churning. “In that case, how would you feel about dinner sometime this week?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “As in … a date?”

Harry nodded curtly. “A date. You’re rather fit, you know.”

The tips of Malfoy’s ears grew a steady pink, and he shot Harry a soft smile. “You’re not too bad yourself, Potter. Dinner sounds lovely.”

Harry could feel his cheeks burning as he took the bouquet. “Well, thanks for the flowers. Oh, and are you still living at the Manor?”

Draco nodded.

“I’ll send a letter your way with the dinner details,” Harry said, his stomach a mess of nerves and excitement as he wandered towards the door. “Happy New Year’s, by the way.”

Draco grinned, offering him a small wave. “Happy New Year’s, Potter.”

As Harry emerged back onto the bustling path, he thought about how he would have the opportunity to get to know who Malfoy was now, their schoolboy days long forgotten. He wanted nothing more than that.


End file.
